Chapter 33

HANNAH

As I took a shower and dressed for the day, I reflected on last night’s conversation with George. It had given me a new way of seeing things and had been immensely comforting at the time, but this morning, a niggling voice in the back of my head kept asking whether this was another example of me becoming too reliant on George.

If I depended on George for emotional support, writing inspiration, and her friendship circle, and then we broke up… My throat constricted at the thought, making it hard to swallow. The thought of losing George was unbearable, I didn’t know how I’d cope with losing everything else too.

No. I took a deep breath in an attempt to keep my anxiety at bay.

If I was becoming too reliant on George, then I should do something about it. Rather than depending on George to help me work through my problems, I could get a professional involved. Once I’d finished putting on my pants and t-shirt, I pulled up my therapist’s booking page. She was usually booked out for weeks, but she must have had a last-minute cancellation as there was an appointment available later in the afternoon. I might as well take advantage of being here and see her face to face. I pounced on it before someone else snapped it up. A therapy appointment was long overdue. While it was healthy to be open with your partner about your struggles, it wasn’t healthy to expect them to fix them for you. That was something I had to do myself—ideally with a trained professional.

Speaking of trained professionals, George had sent me the worksheet from her therapist, listing various techniques for having difficult conversations.

Once I’d finished getting ready, I sat on my hotel bed and read through it again. All the tips made perfect sense when I read them, but they weren’t things I necessarily would have thought of myself. Things like expressing my perspective using “I” statements, such as “I feel” rather than directing “You” statements at the other person to avoid sounding too accusatory. Actively listening and paraphrasing to make sure I understood the other person’s point of view. Trying to remain respectful and calm, even when I didn’t agree with what the other person was saying.

I was reading the worksheet for a third time, considering how I could put it into practice with Tania and my parents, when my phone vibrated. It was Tania.

I’d texted her after I’d finished speaking to George last night, asking if she was free to discuss our asset split. I took in a deep breath as I read her message. It was really happening.

“I can meet you at 8:30 a.m. at Jean-Jacques, if it’s not too late notice?”

I checked my phone. It was just after 7:30 a.m. Plenty of time to catch the subway up to my old local French café by 8:30 a.m. In fact, it’d only take about twenty minutes, leaving me with time to burn.

Assuming my parents were back from Greece—which they should be, according to their itinerary—they’d both be awake and likely reading the news at their dining table by now. I might as well get my conversation with them over and done with too. I wasn’t sure which one I was dreading the most, speaking to Tania or my parents, but tackling them both, one after another, didn’t seem like the worst idea. Then I could tell myself it’d all be over in two hours.

I made a coffee using the Keurig in my room and took a long swig. With the much-needed stimulant in my system, I took a deep breath and video-called my parents.

It rang multiple times, and I was almost about to give up when my parents’ ceiling appeared on my phone, followed by my dad’s nostrils.

“Hello?” I said.

“Who is it?” Mom asked, irritation clear in her voice.

“Hannah,” Dad replied.

Mom must have grabbed Dad’s iPad because the ceiling disappeared and was replaced with most of Mom’s face, frowning at me. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

My immediate reaction was to point out that they didn’t have a great track record of returning my calls either, but I took a deep breath instead. Stay calm and respectful, and practice active listening. “Not being able to speak to me must have been frustrating. I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot going on the past few days. How was your vacation?”

“Fine,” Mom snapped. “But the last thing we needed was to get back home to discover that not only are you and Tania getting a divorce but you’ve published four fantasy novels”—she emphasized the word fantasy—“which you failed to tell us about. It was humiliating receiving the news from a friend who read an article about it. Not only that, but it has overshadowed the publication of your father’s latest book.” Mom swung the camera over to Dad, who pressed his lips together, his face serious. He said nothing.

I resisted the urge to shake my head. Good Lord. It wasn’t like I’d revealed my identity on purpose to undermine my father. And surely there wouldn’t be much cross-over in readership between my fantasy novels and Dad’s academic literature?

“Honestly, I thought we raised you better than this,” Mom concluded.

I took another deep breath and bit back a snarky comment about how it had been Barb, not them, who’d raised me. Instead, for the first time in my life, I told my parents how I felt, trying to use all the skills in the worksheet. I explained how I’d felt they hadn’t approved of my writing dreams, why I hadn’t been comfortable telling them when I’d finally gotten a book deal, and how, when my books took off, I didn’t want to share the news with them because I was worried they’d only throw cold water on my success. And with Tania…well, I’d tried phoning them a few times since we separated, and they hadn’t returned my calls, and it wasn’t the sort of thing you just texted about.

“Well, we’ve been busy,” Mom said defensively, and I sighed. They were always busy. That appeared to be my parents’ only response to what I’d said, so there wasn’t a lot of opportunity for me to practice my active listening skills. I asked Dad about his book, and we spent a few more minutes engaging in superficial chit-chat before we hung up. I stared at my blank phone screen. It had gone about as well as I’d expected. There’d been no come-to-Jesus moment where we all realized the error of our ways and vowed to be closer, but it felt good that I’d been open and honest with them. I’d said my piece, made them aware of how their words and actions impacted me, and I couldn’t control how they responded. What I could control was who I chose to have in my life. Like George.

One down, one to go.

I checked the time on my phone. While I still had time to spare, I might as well start making my way up to Jean-Jacques.

The subway trip passed uneventfully. It was a strange sensation getting out at 79th Street station, with its cramped staircase and arched skylights. I used to come here twice a day. I crossed Broadway and walked down 73rd Street until I came to Jean-Jacques’s red, white and blue striped awning.

Paul, the owner of the café, who was placing a vase of flowers on one of the front tables, looked up as I walked in. “Hannah! We haven’t seen you in a while!” he exclaimed. “How have you been?”

“Really well. Thanks, Paul,” I replied, smiling. Three months ago, I couldn’t have fathomed that I’d be saying that and actually meaning it, especially not immediately before meeting Tania for the talk I’d been avoiding for just as long.

“Hannah.” I turned to see Tania just behind me.

She had the same short, dark brown bob, the same black-rimmed glasses, and was wearing her usual shirt and custom-tailored pantsuit —today it was a white shirt paired with a navy suit and brown Oxford shoes. Even in her flat footwear, Tania was a few inches taller than me. She held herself with the same self-assurance I used to find so attractive. She looked so familiar, but at the same time, she felt like a stranger. Any connection between us had disappeared. Paul had disappeared as well. I didn’t blame him.

“Hi,” I said. We stood awkwardly, staring at each other. Shit. I’d prepared for our talk, but not this initial reunion part. What is the etiquette here? I didn’t want to hug her. But a handshake felt too formal and business-like.

“Should we get a table?” Tania asked briskly, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure,” I said, leading the way toward a table by the window. Previously, Tania’s curt tone would have put me on edge, but it was empowering to realize that I no longer cared what she thought of me, and as a result, her ability to hurt my feelings had weakened substantially. Despite that breakthrough, my chest was still tight with nervousness about how our conversation would go.

We took a seat and studied the menu in silence, even though we both knew it by heart and always ordered the same thing—a croissant with strawberry jam. Jean-Jacques was an institution—an institution that didn’t see the need to ever change the menu.

Paul reappeared, standing next to the table, darting his eyes between Tania and me as if he was worried we’d make a scene in the middle of Jean-Jacques’s usually peaceful morning service, and he’d be forced to eject us. He’d clearly heard about the divorce, or noticed my absence for the last few months and put two and two together. “Would you like the usual?”

Tania nodded. I opened my mouth to agree, but a desire to try something new washed over me. “You know what, I think I’ll try the croque monsieur today. And a decaf latte.” I handed the menu back to Paul with a smile.

For some reason, my decision to mix up my order gave me a confidence boost.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me on such short notice. And I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten in touch earlier,” I said, hoping my opening made it clear to Tania that I was ready for a calm and reasonable conversation.

“That’s okay.” Tania pressed her lips together. “I understand it couldn’t have been easy for you how things ended.”

I smiled. “It all worked out for the best.” And I really meant it. If Tania hadn’t cheated on me, then I’d likely still be living here in an unhappy marriage. My new life in Sapphire Springs was a thousand times better.

“Really?” Tania studied me closely, clearly unable to keep the note of surprise out of her voice. “Well, that’s good.”

“I’ve got the list of assets you sent me on my laptop. I was thinking I could pull it out, and we could go through them one by one? If there are things we both want, perhaps we can make a separate list of them, and then at the end try to divide them up fairly?”

Tania glanced at her watch. “Yes. Let’s get moving,” she said, her voice business-like.

We spent the next forty minutes working our way through the list while we ate our breakfast. The croque monsieur was to die for and, in my opinion, significantly more delicious than the jam croissant. By the time we’d reached the end of the list, there were only a few items—including the painting of our dog, Henry, and a mid-century modern armchair we’d bought at a vintage store—that we both loved.

We ordered another round of coffees and then dived into the most challenging part of our meeting—how to divide up the objects we both wanted.

We went through item by item, speaking about what each one meant to us. A few times, Tania’s tone turned biting as she argued for the objects she wanted, but I kept calm, and eventually, we were able to reach an agreement on everything on the list. It felt like we’d reached a fair and reasonable compromise, even if we both weren’t getting everything we wanted.

After a few minutes of polite small talk, Tania stood. “Well, I’d better get to work. Good to see you, Hannah.” She pressed her lips into a weak smile. “Send me your address, and I’ll have it all delivered.”

She took a step and then turned to me. I steeled myself for a biting final remark.

“Oh, and Hannah. You seem…different. More assertive. It looks good on you.”

I blinked as she turned around and headed toward the door. I didn’t need Tania’s approval anymore, but the fact that she’d noticed a change in me was strangely satisfying, even if it also felt slightly condescending.

After saying goodbye to Paul, I walked back to the station. A weight had been lifted off my chest. It was just past 9 a.m., and I’d already managed to knock off two conversations that had been hanging over my head for months or, in my parents’ case, years. Energized, I called my lawyer to see if she could fit me in after my therapist session this afternoon to update my will. Since I was accomplishing goals today, I might as well cross another task off my list. I’d been meaning to remove Tania from it for months, and the will needed to be signed and witnessed in person, so today seemed like the perfect opportunity.

On the subway back to my hotel, I mindlessly scrolled on Instagram, pausing at a gorgeous photo of a beach at sunset. When George hires another staff member, I wonder if she’d be interested in a beach vacation. We could get a cute Airbnb, read books while lounging on the sand, even practice our kayaking skills… I smiled at the thought, looking at the photo more closely, and did a double-take when I realized Ben had posted it late last night, and the location was Fire Island.

My heart plummeted. Shit.

I clicked on his account and went to his stories, where there was a photo of five men, one of them him, at a pool, also on Fire Island. If Ben was at Fire Island, then George was seriously understaffed. George and I had struggled when I’d first started working at Novel Gossip with just the two of us working front of house, and the café would be even busier this week with summer break starting. George and Josie would be completely under water without either Ben or me to help. That’s the last thing George needs while her mom is visiting. Guilt washed over me.

As soon as I got back to the hotel, I packed my bags. If I hurried, I could probably make it back to Sapphire Springs before the lunch rush. After checking out, I walked as fast as I could to Grand Central, where I bought a ticket for the next Hudson Line train, which was leaving in ten minutes. I considered calling or texting George to let her know I was on my way back, but I didn’t want to distract her. She’d have enough on her plate opening Novel Gossip.

Instead, while I waited for the train, I canceled my therapist and lawyer appointments this afternoon. This time, I wasn’t putting them off out of fear of a difficult conversation. I was putting it off so I could be there for George. And that was more than enough of a reason.